Heroes Of Another Story
by prinzenhasserin
Summary: One sunny day in 1986 Harry happens unto Severus Snape. pre-Hogwarts, other character, one-shot


**Disclaimer: **_Imitation is the best form of flattery_ - This story is a fanfiction based on characters and situations created and owned by J., various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Raincoast Books and Warner Bros., Inc.

**Author's Note: **This story is most probably considered an Alternative Universe, spanning from one day when Harry was six years old. The thing is, it's a work in progress, I have no Beta and there are going to be quite a few changes (It's stupid how little Harry/the reader knows about the magical world after seven years school). Also, there are going to be people from other fandoms, because I like shout-outs (not subtle references, they're called shout-out for a reason) and Severus Snape deserves more than the boring tragic past Rowling gives him (I mean really, abusive father, poor home, unrequited love, decides to join the mob, bullies schoolchildren – tvtropes should have a page dedicated to The Snape)

Also. I most probably am abusing 'that', 'this' and the common comma. Help is greatly appreciated.

**Enjoy.**

* * *

**Heroes Of Another Story**

* * *

_Caused by a____ S__tubborn Old Lady_

The Evans Family has always been living in the north of England.  
Or, at least they had been living there long enough that people could tell you (if they listened well and remembered the gossip) what Mr. Evans said when King George changed his family name to Windsor.  
(It was not very nice.)  
The residence of the family depended not on some sort of necessity, like owning land or a business, just the simple fact that someday someone named Evans had decided to settle there, and from there, the family had grown. Almost like plants growing, the Evans had slowly become widespread, then watered down, until the only Evans still living up north was married to a Northam.

Audrey Evans, an old, relatively healthy lady of ninety-six, was as sharp-tongued and pig-headed as elderly women so often become. Pertaining to herself however, she had cultivated those traits since birth, and if time had made her memory even more selective, her hearing just as bad, and her left knee a case for Doctor House, then, well, who could blame time.  
(The sole reason she had bought a cane was to be able to whack Death over the head. Time had not wanted start a fight.)

She had pretty much cleared up all of her dealings, and was ready for a trip down under. The only thing she had left to do was holding a memorable fare-well party: She had set her mind on bringing the last of the Evans together. The issue here was that by mischance most family members had died without informing Mrs Audrey Evans of their plight. This made her rather more insistent than usual those alive attended.

Unfortunately for one Petunia Dursley, nee Evans, was that not only did Audrey Evans remember her dear great-nieces Petunia and Lily, she remembered both their darling babies – who should have been called Dudley and Harry Evans to her mind (Alas, not everyone was as fortunate in the brain department as her, and so Dudley was not only unfortunately handicapped with his first name, but his last name as well – he could only feel blessed a middle name was never chosen).  
Audrey Evans _insisted_, persistently and over the course of many loud and obnoxious phone calls Petunia feared the neighbours might hear, that even if Lily's child was the most rowdy of delinquents _or_ came down with the measles _or_ had some school project going on – he was expected at Audrey Evans' "death party".

Which was why one Harry Potter was present on June 20th, the day Severus Snape moved back into Spinner's End from his position as head of Slytherin House into the house he had inherited from his father two years prior.

Self-evidently, not very many people in what both Audrey Evans and Severus Snape called their home town, knew that he was what was commonly referred to as a wizard. Neither was he noted for stiff black clothing, nor for a hateful personality. Most people would have described his face as plain, yes, most people would not have called him a bitter and hateful man – he was reasonably stubborn and had a bit of a forceful personality, but he had always been nice to kids, and greeted his elders as every young man should. The only slightly suspicious aspect was his abrupt face-blank whenever someone brought up childhood friends, the Evans or his father.

Around the town he was known as Eileen's boy – Eileen Prince, the elusive grande dame of the neighbourhood, who used to drop by, back in the days, with a lot of smiles and useful gifts and had birthed such a clever little tyke – probably intentionally ignorant of the man who really brought him up. Still, Tobias Snape remained his guardian, because that was how it was done back then, because Severus was his son and heir, the only child of his father even if he was a child born out of wedlock; Tobias, who had been such a promising youth, until he knocked up that girl (here people conveniently forgot that "their Eileen" was just that harlot) and became miserable. He resented Eileen, the girl that never remarried, he resented his work down in the mills, and he resented himself, for becoming so miserable over a girl. And most of all he resented that Eileen lived more comfortable than he, had more money, more sons, and more will to life, and so he stubbornly clung to life and Severus, and made both of them even more miserable. A lot of the women rejoiced (quietly in their homes, of course) quite mightily when the old bugger finally died, for Eileen was seldom allowed to see her second son; but Tobias Snape and Eileen Prince, Miss Prince and her three princes for that matter – that is a story for another time.

Audrey Evans degreed all people of within and without her spitting distance had to attend the last party before her funeral. To prevent lasting damage to occur should anyone available not attend, one of her daughters in law had her son running around the neighbourhood on the day before doomsday to collect the excuses of the deadly ill, the horridly impolite and the almighty scared.

When the messenger arrived at the end of the street on top of the hill they called The Spinner's End (Many years ago, there may have been a spinner, they say, mad as they come, who had a desperate need to spin and spin and spin, and even when his hands were bloodied from the yarn he spun and spun, until his fingers fell off, and still he continued spinning and when they had finally found him, he was buried under the reddest yarn anyone had ever seen and there had been no flesh and bone below his elbow.), he met not Eileen's boy – the shy, but brilliant youth – but the potion's master of Hogwarts, death-eater, spy, spell-crafter and through and through Dumbledore's man (or rather: Lily's son's but back then one equalled the other). His perception may have been blind-sided by the stories of the spinner, it may not have been; the full presence of the black-clad, hook-nosed figure was awe-inspiring.

There had been many introductions of heroes and villains alike to varying non-suspecting normal citizen in the history of Great Britain and the rest of the world, but they all paled in comparison to this sunny afternoon in North England on the steps of ye olde Snape's house. Looming – for not one could call this simple standing – in all his glory, emitting the air of pure bastardy, he easily surpassed Rasputin, Ramses II and Satan himself in eloquence and style. (He might have been shorter than expected.)

When this man opened the door, the messenger recoiled.

"Ugh.", was all he could bring his vocal chords to express in the face of the of various potions ingredients smelling, exhausted man of intimidating presence.

Severus Snape, badass extraordinaire (and mummy's boy) who never suffered fools gladly, arched one eyebrow and put all of his disdain in three letters: "Yes?"

Only due to the ignorance of those few moments, that the poor boy did not soil his pants, but quivered and answered relatively coherent: "Ugh. I … erm. I'm... supposed to.. err. Mrs. Audrey Evans death party, sir!"

There may have never been the opportunity to observe this gracious and tasteful invitation, had the wards surrounding Spinner's end been powered five minutes earlier. Yet, this was past the crossroads of destiny, since there have been few people who denied free food and wine – Severus Snape was not among them.

* * *

If Severus Snape had met Harry Potter on the evening of the party, he could not remember him.  
Had he sworn to recognize the spawn of Potter and the child of Lily at first glance, he would have been disabused of that notion – people are often only able to match children to their parents when they have already recognised the superficial similarities. Until then, Harry was just a child among many.

* * *

Harry Potter seldom left Surrey, England.

In fact, he had only left his home town two times: one time for a field trip to London, to the Houses of Parliament, Buckingham Palace and the Natural History Museum, and one time for a school trip to Brighton and the coast.

Thus, the first time he heard of a certain great-aunt Audrey, who had invited the Evans family for a weekend up north, he was sure he was going to be left by Mrs Figg, the cat lady from two streets down. Later on, after he heard his aunt Petunia shrieking at Vernon for over an hour (that great-aunt Audrey didn't seem to get the words he's busy/ he's sick/ he's a thieving little bugger, Harry, that is), he only marvelled that there seemed to exist people even more persistent than his aunt Petunia.

Even with the extra set clothing Petunia bought him specifically for this occasion, the whole way Harry expected to be thrown out of the car. By any chance, they might have forgotten his presence in the car (usually Aunt Petunia would have scolded him for making the seat dirty and/or Uncle Vernon would have told Dudley to pinch him should he "do anything weird"), so he stayed quiet and held his very own brand of sarcasm close to his chest.

Arriving at Mrs Evans house was no less terrifying than the drive, since Harry was rather overwhelmed by the great mass of people. He had never met relatives of his, beside Petunia and Dudley. A lot of people greeted him as if they knew him, but they obviously did not, because they seemed very friendly, and Aunt Petunia did not scowl at them.

Later, he would not be able to remember meeting them all – his mind compromised the weekend into snapshots.

There was the always present Aunt Audrey, who for some unfathomable reason seemed to not only like, but adore him, stuffed him with all sorts of food and even asked him if the bedding was to his liking.

Then Mary-Margaret, who did not like her name at all and listened to the very odd moniker of Toot-Toot (and who smuggled him licorice sticks). She was apparently a dog-sitter in New York City and made loads of money, but Aunt Petunia still scoffed at her.

There was the double-bed, in which Dudley and Harry should have slept together, but Harry preferred the cold floor to Dudley hogging the blanket and kicking him with his feet. The carpet was still more comfortable than the mattress in his cupboard.

There were children, lots of children, named Nellie and Tom, Stinker, Will, Kimberley-Ann, Potts and Who, and not all of them liked Dudley and therefore not him.

Not to forget their parents and grandparents and a whole bunch of different people, whom Petunia had otherwise sneered at and called _layabouts_ or _foreigners_ or _freaks_ in that strange tone of hers, but apparently were related to her much the same way _"her freak sister"_ had been. Apparently Harry was not the only family member she disliked, and even if his mum and dad were drunks and layabouts, they would have loved him dearly.

However much he adored not being the object of various gossips wherever Petunia cannot overhear, his quiet life went pear-shaped when Dudley finally found enough people to go Harry Hunting.

It started pretty normal, as normal as being hunted by your cousin can ever be, when they chased him down the street and over a few orchards. He tried to escape via some fences, but that proved unwise since one of Dudley's new mates was on the track and field team and easily took hurdles almost double Harry's size.

So the chase led them over a few fields, and past the river through some woods up the hill, finally back to civilisation – Harry was wondering, if, perhaps, maybe, Aunt Audrey would provide a little shelter. And then he crossed over one last fence, but was not fast enough, did not jump high enough and lodged himself on a broken nail. His – or rather, Dudley's – jeans ripped, and his skin was even less durable and ripped also, and Harry muffled a scream.

The fastest of Dudley's group caught up with him and stopped. He looked around as if to make certain nobody was around, and then... Harry could not believe his luck: turned around! Looking through the holes in the fence, Harry was not able to believe the boy could not see him. It was impossible not to. This was a normal picket fence – Harry was not even hiding!

"Where did he go?", the boy called down to his comrades. Was that boy _blind_?

"Up tha hill!"

"There's nowhere he could hide, but nobody's here! And I hafta pee!", the first boy answered.

"Bugger that!", that was definitely Dudley, Harry noted. Nobody huffed and puffed quite like a steam train, except Dudley. "There's no way the freak would vanish to air."

"Look for yourself.", the first boy said sullenly.

"Bugger.", Dudley repeated after a moment. "Well, then, let's go find a toilet. I think I could use one, too."

Then they traipsed down the hill. The whole time Harry could make their legs out through the holes in the fence. They had stood maybe four feet away from him. But apparently, they had not seen him.

Harry exhaled shakily.

That was when he noticed his leg bleeding. He pressed unsteadily against the flowing blood, which did not help much and only made his hands messy.

He tried to stand up, but the adrenaline started to dissipate and his leg could not fully hold him. He had to get back to Aunt Audrey's house, though and so he hauled himself upwards with the help of the fence.

* * *

This was the position in which Severus Snape found his uninvited house-guest. Alerted to the intruder by the proximity wards, he was prepared to deal with an injured over-curious muggleborn who would not alarm anything else, but not what appeared to be a ghoul with bloodied rags.

Magical beings and muggles were kept out of his wards completely, not because of some blood-difference, but because of intent, belief; the only thing magic really got going.

(Though he still hoped sometimes they would keep out Lucius Malfoy, regardless of him having any... special... blood attributes, for the simple reason that nobody as vain as him could be purely human.)

Then he saw the heap move. And with that the assumption died . A child, a tiny little kid, so tiny, he probably did not know of magic or Hogwarts, who was probably terrified by the fence and who had been sliced by the protections of his outer ward-ring.

"Child!", he called out. The head of the kid swirled around and looked at him with the biggest, most terrified and greenest eyes Professor Snape had ever seen. "What are you doing here?"

When the child – congratulations, it's a boy, his brain supplied and he wanted to scream with hilarity – heard him, he automatically assumed a position which presented him the least body parts that could be severely damaged or hurt. Severus knew that position. He had assumed the same crouched posture whenever his father had drunken way too much. Sympathy, however, could not rear his head, for he remembered whom he was reminded of looking at the boy.

(It may have been the simple ridiculousness of a muggleborn coming to Spinner's End – Severus could not say.)

Lily's eyes. Potter's hair. Severus' own posture.

He wanted to swear, scream, throw a tantrum the size of the Mariana Trench when his brain supplied him with the fact that he had _sworn an oath_ to protect this child. Son of his enemy, child of … well, Lily.

"Excuse me, sir.", the Boy-Who-Lived told him. "I stumbled."

Employing his not unimportant skill in reading people, he diagnosed the latter to be a lie, and the former to be... sincere? Could not be, the brat was James Potter's son, he probably knew how to foul lie detectors (Where people able to drink skills with their mother's milk?)

"Yes.", he said to the boy instead. "You stumble outside of my garden, to fall over the fence against gravity into my garden, where you proceed to rip open your leg?" Even if the last one was actually not the boy's fault, but his wards'.

If possible, the boy shrank even further. He did not want to think about the reason. (He had sworn an oath to protect this child.) No, that was definitely not the well cared kid Dumbledore pretended him to be. No, he was certainly not safe behind blood-wards. What to do about it? Nothing, Severus decided. Would not do to oppose the most powerful sorcerer in Great Britain. (He had sworn – never mind.)

"No, sir.", Potter the Second answered. He squirmed, and Severus decided to wait if there might be more the boy was willing to divulge. And voilà, may there be another who accused him of having no pedagogic skills: "You wouldn't believe me if I told you, sir."

Severus was no stranger to being called "Sir", but strangely he objected it from this little person. (He had sworn an _oath_ to protect the child.) Probably because he used it so often – "Try me.", he said, trying for a little softer, but in all likelihood it came out more sinister.

Which did not necessitate the noise the boy made. Something like "Irgh!", he said. "Aunt... Beasts!" Severus would not have been surprised if the boy had passed out; but detected the superb acting nevertheless as acting. Curiously, it did not anger Severus as much as it should. It reminded him too much of his little brother.

'And there it was.', Severus thought. 'Rue the day, you went to Dumbledore for protection, rue the day you took stupid oaths, not of loyalty, but for the protection of a _person_, because now there is no way you are going to be able to act the death-eater.'

When the boy's eyes inevitable began to flutter, Severus grabbed him ruggedly by his collar and dragged him into his humble abode to sit him onto a kitchen stool. Potter did not struggle, but hung like a wet bag on his arm.

"Sit.", Severus told the boy. "Do not move." He forwent his usual threats (which the boy would barely comprehend as frightened as he pretended not to be) and went into his bathroom to fetch probably way out of date gauze and self-brewed wound salve. It was, after all, only the second time he stayed here since his father finally had given up the mortal plane. Since Severus had left home at the age of seventeen, he never once came back. Only when the town's solicitor contacted him with the exertion of his father's will  
did he hear of the old man's death. Maybe it smelled a little rancid (the cream, not his father – who most definitely _had_ smelled rancid, even when he was alive).

When he returned to the kitchen, Potter II sat exactly as ramrod straight on the stool as he had when Severus left him. And were those shivers?

"Hitch up the leg of your trousers.", Severus told him.

The boy obeyed almost instantly. Instead of crumpling the leg up like any ordinary boy would have, he folded the trousers neatly. Then he bit his lip, but when he consciously realised the action, he stopped.

Severus went on his knee and ordered the boy to stretch out the leg. Potter winced. Then Severus carefully dabbed a little fingertip of the salve over the long, inch deep wound. When he looked up, Potter had closed his eyes, apparently out of... bliss? (He had sworn an oath to _protect_ the boy.)

"Where do you live?", Severus asked the boy, who must have run up the hill from the fields to come over the fence as he did, while he wrapped the leg in gauze. "I have never seen you around here."

_(Of course_, he thought afterwards. _You could not be normal and ask his name first.)_

That, however, mattered little when Potter shyly told him he lived in Audrey Evans house. A fair way through town, he had to wrap up some of his potions before accompanying the little boy to his relatives.

Had he something to amuse the 5-year-old (_no wait, he's supposed to be six, right_)?

"I have to put some hazardous things away. In the meantime you may use blank papers to draw or whatever. Pencils are in the case over there. Help yourself." And with that he put all thoughts of little seven years (Six! He is supposed to be six! Born on July 31st 1980) out of his mind.

It was probably 4 hours later when Severus began to remember his house guest again. Originally he had only wanted to tidy up most of the mess he made experimenting, but then he got an idea and things went from there.

Potter was sitting on his kitchen table, dangling his feet and looking for all the world as if there was nothing wrong with having been left alone for the last four hours. His hands were now relatively clean, but the blood on his shirt and pants had crusted and turned into brown. He was drawing something.

"So.", Severus reached for his suit jacket since it was a rather cold summer day. "Let's bring you back to your relatives." The child jumped high and Severus allowed himself a small curled up smirk. Scaring little children was so much fun!

During the walk across town both of them stayed silent. Severus thought of Potter the First (though not really; an ancient family the Potter's were), the marauders and how often children were set aside when bigger problems turned up. He thought of the Black brothers – how one ended up in Azkaban and one dead or lost-in-combat. He thought of the Dark Lord who coerced young men over to his side, and then he thought of Dumbledore who coerced young people to fight for his side. And he smiled bitterly, and remembered that life is unfair.

"Severus, what a surprise! We have seen you yesterday, don't spoil us with your presence, we will get lonely if we don't see you every few weeks."

Severus smiled weakly at the exuberant greeting. "I am actually here because I found someone you might be missing.", he said and shoved the boy gently towards the door step.

The woman, Mrs. Clutterbuck, if he remembered correctly, gasped. "Oh!" Then she turned around and called for the Missus Evans. "Eileen's boy brought little Harry home!"

A few seconds later, Audrey Evans stood on the door step having shuffled the other old lady to the side and peered down on the boy Severus had found in his gardens. "Hmm.", the old lady finally grumbled. "The Dursley's left a few hours ago without you. Blast that pig Petunia married."

They what? They left the child... well, maybe that was something parents did. It was not as if he had much experience with childrearing.

Potter looked contrite, then bit his lip. "Left?", he asked in a high-pitched voice.

The old woman poked him with her cane. "Awful manners, that. Leaving me to take care of them." She looked a little closer and peered in Severus eyes. "Well. Come on in." That command was bolstered by a stick that poked into Severus' ribs. He was only glad it was not a wand.

She hobbled inside. Severus looked down at the boy. He was not sure if he wanted to have a part in this problem. If the people Potter was staying with left him here, with the most patronizing woman Severus knew, there had to be issues. (He had sworn an oath to protect the boy.) Severus did not want another mess. He strived to keep things nice and simple.

On the other hand, he had sworn an oath to protect the boy. He stayed fine, as long as he did not know whether the boy was safe or not, but now that he knew, there was no telling what magic would do to enforce his word. (Oh, whom was he kidding. Protecting someone did not depend on their physical and psychological well-being. But it mattered to his peace of mind.) That did not mean he wanted to protect the boy.

"I am waiting!", the old lady called and it promised pain beyond measure should he choose to disobey. Severus cringed. He despised his own reaction to old women, but could not help it, he'd seen the devastation one single woman could inflict on the world.

("Magic! Oh, you poor fool! Magic, magic is belief. You are not immortal, and you shall not ever be, until all the people in the world are dead. Have you ever seen a belief greeter than mothers who move mountains when their children are in danger? A might greater than that of loved ones rescuing their loves? Find a greater belief, I dare you, Lord Flight-From-Death, and I will submit to you, and serve you for all times even from beyond the grave. I dare you, Lord of the Fools, to find a mother who'll serve you after you killed her child, I dare you, me, Maeve, Priestess of The Mór-ríoghain!" Laughing at the Dark Lord, she had brought down the sky upon them. She was the last he killed, before the Potters. He wondered, if that had been the reason... but it was useless to ponder such things. Anyway, Mrs Evans was as muggle as they come.)

He followed the wilful woman into her living room, and accepted the tea. It was very well brewed and probably an expensive brand. Starting to relax, he listened to Audrey Evans talking to the little Potter and reassuring him, that they would care for him, maybe even find someone else to foster him.

Severus did not know what course of action he should advise the woman to take, since he knew that Dumbledore had placed Potter with his aunt. Not many people would go against Dumbledore, but many would fight for him and his beliefs. But how to tell that to this muggle woman who feared nothing but her great-nephew's happiness? Audrey Evans ("Call me Aunt Audrey, dear." - but she said the same thing to Potter who called her Mrs. Evans anyway) wanted someone to foster the Potter child, private fostering, Severus believed it was called. That did not make things easier in the least. Would Potter even be registered in Muggle Britain, or rather in Magical Britain? Either way, records were most probably sealed due to security reasons.

The goblins would know. But going against Dumbledore – but was he? Dumbledore would only contact the boy when he turned eleven; he must have some watchers in wherever Petunia now lived. Would they move, if that meant they would not have to care for Potter? Dumbledore wanted him to protect the boy, yes, and Severus did not want to protect the boy on Dumbledore's orders to let him grow the way Dumbledore wanted, and sacrifice him for the death of the Dark Lord. Well, Severus wanted the Dark Lord dead, but he did not want to sacrifice Lily. (He had sworn an oath to protect the boy.) Or Lily's son. Theoretically, they would not be able to trace them, if he should choose to hide Lily's son – his brother knew people, and there were administrative means and bureaucratic ways to hide people. But he got way ahead of himself.

"Listen.", he interrupted Mrs Evans speech. She was talking about informing the local council and he could not let her do that – Potter was a wizard's child and who knew if he was even a British subject or only one in Magical Britain. "There is something you should know about Lily and her husband. And Harry, too."

Blast it, the statute of secrecy was one of the minor laws he had broken – Audrey Evans stilled and looked at him quite like Minerva did when she scolded him for making yet another Hufflepuff first year cry. He gulped. It was not as if he did it on purpose.

"They were magical, you see. A witch. And a wizard."

Both of them stared at him as if he had declared the sky pink. He probably had, hadn't he?

"There are quite a few of us out there, and Potter here belongs among the famous ones. He vanquished the Dark Lord when he was one year old. Ended the Years of Terror. Then vanished without a trace. The History books have you currently gallivanting somewhere in Tibet defeating dragons."

* * *

Later, after Severus had demonstrated a few spells and had drunken a few more cups of tea, had told Potter some stories about his mum and had been pressed by Mrs Evans to take care of the boy at least for a month until a more permanent solution could be found; he reflected that the revelation - as world-changing disclosures go, had went fairly well.

He thought about a few pointers, should he have to go through this embarrassment again (he should probably ramble a lot less), but the impromptu speech had not been that bad.

Before he despaired in his unmanageable lot in life, he breathed in very deeply and took another sip of the tea that Mrs Evans had made him take along.

Well. It could not be the worst decision in his life.

* * *

_And when a lady's in the case,  
__You know all other things give place._

John Gay – The Hare and Many Friends

* * *

**Edit**: So I'm sorry. As of yet, I am unable to write a continuation. I will be reusing plot-bits in a new story, coming up soon - it won't be revolving around Snape, though.


End file.
